


May I have this dance?

by BeeLove



Category: Alice (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Baristas, F/M, Fluff, Greasers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Random Song Challenge, Road Trips, School Dances, School Shootings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Suicide Attempt, Ten Songs Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:45:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeLove/pseuds/BeeLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Alice and Hatter live out twenty alternative versions of themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Eve6; Think Twice**  
You roll your eyes as he sits down next to you at the bar, all charming smiles and alcoholic breath. He offers to buy you a drink. It takes all your self restraint not to laugh in his face. He takes your mockery for coyness. Calls you baby. Tries to touch your hair. You clench your fist and narrow your eyes. He doesn't get the hint, asks what you're drinking. What you're called.

Exasperated, you turn away from him, try to ask the bartender for a cup of coffee. He grabs your wrist, spins you around on your bar stool. Gets in your face. You rip your arm out of his grasp. He calls you a tease. A bitch. A whore.

“Hey now, friend,” comes a new voice. “That's no way to talk to a lady, now is it?” This one has an accent, from far away from here. From where you've dreamed of going, back when you were young, when you didn't spend your nights wasting away under neon lights.

There's a thin layer of venom under his words. Under his eyes. Under his smile. Your gentleman caller mumbles about it not being worth it. Leaves. You roll your eyes again, massaging nearly bruised skin. Before you can even say thank you, he slides into the now unoccupied stool. “Name's Hatter.” The venom is gone from him. From you. From the whole bar. “What's yours?”

 **Placebo; Because I Want You**  
Hatter spins the paintbrush in his fingers and stares down the blank canvas. He's been sitting in the same spot for at least three hours – since he woke up from a ridiculously sensual dream about a certain someone who lived right down the hall – with nothing to show for it. With a grimace, he puts down the brush, and starts fiddling with his paints.

It's her eyes, he realizes, as his hand settles on a tube of blue. He can't get the color of her eyes. They're on the brighter side of blue, with a little bit of gray lightening the shade. Glancing at the clock, he wonders if 4am is too early to fake a reason to see her.

Probably.

Still scowling, Hatter wanders away from his easel to stand in his kitchen. His oven has no sympathy. Nor does his refrigerator. He fists his hands in his hair, mussing up his already mussed bedhead, and very nearly cusses out the light fixtures. Glancing at his liquor cabinet, he wonders if 4am is too early to open a bottle.

Probably.

It's really a cliché, his life. The story of the tortured artist falling for his karate chopping neighbor. How pathetic. How childish. With a self deprecating grin, Hatter turns away from his cupboards and goes about making some coffee. And, maybe in a few hours, he'll find a reason to actually speak to the girl. He hasn't managed to yet, but where there's a will, there's a way.

 **Band of Horses; Is There A Ghost**  
“You make it very difficult for me to sleep, you know.” Alice points out with her eyes closed.

“Well excuse me then,” her visitor replies from his vigil in the corner of her room. “At least you can sleep.” He huffs, and crosses his arms and legs. With an offended frown, he hovers a few feet off the ground, as if in an invisible chair. “Some of us aren't that lucky.”

Alice groans and rolls over to give him the full force of her glare. “Don't start that one again. I don't have the energy to ignore you.” He sticks his tongue out at her. She shakes her head and turns so that her back is facing him again. “Can you at least go somewhere else, please? It's hard to sleep with you watching me all the time.”

“Wish I could, love,” he teases, his voice much closer now. She doesn't have to open her eyes to know that he's hovering just over her bed now. “But I rather like being close to you.” She sighs, but doesn't say anything. Feeling awfully proud of himself, the ghost known as Hatter smiles and rests his chin on his hands.

 **Alkaline Trio; Bloodied Up**  
He remembers that it was a cold night. He remembers shivering. He remembers his breath frosting in the air. He remembers the ache of his ribs and the taste copper in the back of his throat. They had roughed him up good, they had. Taken his wallet. His cigarettes. His dignity. He remembers the burn of furious humiliation clouding his every thought.

Most of all, he remembers her.

She was hurrying past the mouth of the alleyway, purse tucked under one arm, coat pulled close against the cold. He tried to moan something – loud enough for her to hear him – like, got a smoke, doll face or mind calling me an ambulance, sweeting or, my God, you're the most beautiful thing I've seen all night. What probably came out was a ridiculously suave gurgle of pain.

The girl came hurrying to his side, gasping in shock and sympathy. “What happened to you?” She asked him, as she fished for her cellphone. Dark hair fell across her face as she knelt at his side. He wanted to tell her not to sit down – her outfit looked awfully posh and expensive. “You poor thing,” she whispered, brushing back his bangs with one hand and holding her phone in the other.

Her fingers were cool against his surprisingly fevered forehead. “Oh, that feels good,” he slurred, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Wha's your name, love?”

“Alice,” she replied quickly before she was connected with nine-one-one. That was about the time he passed out.

 **Butterfly Boucher; Never Leave Your Heart Alone**  
Alice has his order memorized by now. A large cafe mocha – more chocolate than coffee – with extra whipped cream. She likes to think they know each other somewhat well by now, even though they never say more than a few words to each other.

“The usual, sir?”  
“Yes please.”  
“3.17 is going to be your total.”  
“Thank you... Alice.”

He always pauses before he says her name, as if he doesn't remember it and has to check her tag. She pretends it doesn't really hurt. Why should it? It's not as if they're friends. She's just some directionless coffee girl, and he's just some hipster with a hat fetish. One of her coworkers gives her an odd look, and she realizes that she's glaring rather ferociously at the display of cones.

“Dunno what they did to offend you.” She turns around just in time to see him smirk at her as he enters the café. Her cheeks instantly heat up, and she ducks her head to hide her embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she apologizes needlessly as she logs into the register. “Just having an off morning.” She does her best not to burst into song – they're actually having a conversation! “The usual today?”

“No,” he says slowly, tapping his scruffy chin with one finger. “I'm in the mood for something different. What can you recommend?”

 **Company Of Thieves; The Fire Song**  
He gets there as soon as she texts him (my house burned down oh my god i need you), and she latches onto him. Throws her arms around his neck, buries her face in his shoulders, cries like she's screaming. He wraps his arms around her slight waist and watches the flickering orange, red and yellow so she doesn't have to. Her parents stand off to the side, talking to one of the firemen. Carol – her mum – makes eye contact and nods with a grim face.

He leads her back to his car and bundles her up in the front seat. She's still wearing the clothes she wore to school – jeans and a plain gray t-shirt – only now they're soot stained and smeared. His car fills with the smell of smoke. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” she wipes at her face, “nowhere. I don't know.” He opens his mouth and shuts it, unsure of what to say. “You're not wearing a hat,” she notices, staring at him with bottomless eyes. “How can I call you Hatter, if you're not wearing a hat?”

“You can call me David,” he reminds her and she grimaces. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don't know.”

 **Amanda Palmer; Strength Through Music**  
It started during first period. At first, everyone froze. Hatter – who was about to pass her a note decorated with doodles of lopsided hearts – stared at her with wide eyes. Alice stared back at him – poised to accept whatever little poem he scribbled for her – not daring to look anywhere else. Some of the kids in the back row started whispering nervously to each other before the teacher furiously motioned for silence.

Be quiet, and we won't be found.

Then the screaming started.

Footsteps pounded out in the hallway – the terrified sounds of people running every which way but the right one – followed by the _pop pop pop_ of certain death. Tears welled up in her eyes, at the solid _thump_ of a body hitting the floor. Hatter dropped his note, reaching instead for his hand. Last night, he had asked her to go all the way. She said no, thinking that, at seventeen years old, they had all the time in the world.

Now, as the door was flung open, and a kid that no one recognized aimed a gun at their teacher's head, Alice wished fervently that she had said yes. At least that way, she would have known the feeling of Hatter's body moving against her body before she died. At least that way, she would have known the feel of his skin on her skin before she died.

At the very least, she would have had those memories to hold close to her heart in their final moments together.

 **The New Pornographers; Adventures in Solitude**  
“I'm really glad he found you,” Alice admits slowly, as she settles down on the couch next to her boyfriend. He says nothing – not that she expects him to respond – and stares at the dark television. “Do you want to watch something?” She asks, turning it on regardless and flipping it to the Discovery channel. Myth Busters is on. She smiles and leans against his stiff shoulder.

“Have you talked to March yet?” He flinches at the mention of his room mate, but still says nothing. “He was pretty shaken up.” She neglects to mention that she was there too. She doesn't tell him that she had been standing in the background when March found him, lying on the floor, both wrists gaping and bloody. Instead, she lets him think that March had called her after the fact, that she had met him at the hospital.

“Are you hungry?” She tries, unconsciously tracing her fingers over the awkwardly thick bandages wrapped around both forearms. “I could make you something.” Still nothing, and she sighs. “How about I fix you some tea, at least.” She's about to get up, when he catches her wandering hand in his.

“I know you were there,” he whispers, kissing her palm. “I'm so sorry,” he murmurs against her skin, with tears in his eyes. “I'm so, so sorry.”

 **Bright Eyes; Tereza and Tomas**  
At 3am, on Monday morning – the day of their high school graduation – Alice glances up from her book to the sound of a pebble bouncing off her window. Rolling her eyes, she goes to investigate. “What is it?” She whispers fiercely into the predawn darkness, already knowing who is standing on her driveway. “What do you want?”

“Come on,” is Hatter's reply. He waves his arm to illustrate his point. “Pack a bag. We're leaving.”

“Leaving?” She repeats. “What the hell are you talking about, Hatter? Graduation is in a few hours!”

“Doesn't matter,” he calls up to her. “We're leaving for the trip now.” They'd been kicking around the idea for a while – taking off in his old car and disappearing for a few days – but Alice never thought much of it. Hatter's the sort of boy who makes hundreds of plans a day, without any intention of following through.

Clearly she was wrong.

“Trip to where?” He shrugs, and she shakes her head fondly. “How long will we be gone?” He shrugs again, and she can't stop the laughter bubbling in her chest. “Give me fifteen minutes to pack, okay?” She turns away from the window just in time to miss his triumphant fist-pump.

 **DeVotchKa; How It Ends**  
Her mates see him before she does – a scruffy faced teenage boy with a pork-pie hat, sitting on a motorized scooter at a stop sign – and they start whispering to each other. How disgraceful, what street trash, I hope he doesn't talk to us, I hope he doesn't think that he can talk to us. Alice rolls her eyes at their gossip. One semester in a private school, and they all think they're hot shit.

Just to spite them, she turns to study the boy. He's got dark hair, flipping out messily from under the brim of his hat, and equally dark eyes. His jacket – made of soft, tan leather – looks absolutely delicious. His mouth is set in determination, and she wonders what he looks like when he smiles. Her friends start hissing her name, which catches his attention.

He turns, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “See something you like, love?” He's challenging her, trying to scare her off. It works on her friends – why does she even call them that, when they're anything but friendly – but Alice just smirks in response.

“Yeah. Maybe.” He laughs at her, trailing his dark eyes over her bare legs. She does her best not to fidget. “See something you like, hon?” He laughs again, but doesn't answer.

“Want a ride?” He asks, even as she's already moving towards him. Her friends are calling her back, calling her crazy, calling her insane, but she ignores them as she climbs on the back of his bike.

“Where ever you want to go.”  



	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alice and Hatter live out ten more alternative versions of themselves.

**Modest Mouse: The World at Large**  
Hatter sighed as he crossed his arms. The air was heavy with the unholy heat of summer and a hot, bitter wind kicked up plumes of gritty dust in the parking lot. He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to shield them from the glinting sunlight, but to no avail. The diner was small, but a sign in the front window proclaimed it carried the best pie this side of the Mississippi.

A bell jingled on the door as he crossed the threshold and a pretty girl in a blue button-down looked up from where she was wiping down the counter.

“Hi there,” she greeted with a smile; her voice was untouched by the slow drawl that seemed to plague this part of the country. Hatter wondered where she was from. “How are you?”

“Well enough,” he coughed, suddenly shy, and she turned to face him, propping her elbows on the counter she just finished cleaning. Her eyes gleamed in the late afternoon sun, and Hatter found himself ducking his face before he did something embarrassing.

“Nice accent.” She wasn't teasing – sounded like she meant it.

“Nice smile,” he shot back, hoping to call her bluff. She shook her head, her dark hair shimmying in its ponytail. Hatter bit his cheek hard against the poetry suddenly burning on his tongue.

“Thanks,” she said, effectively winning a game that she didn't even know she was playing. Her name tag gave her away as Alice. “Just passing through?”

“Might stay for a while,” he admitted, glancing up to meet her stare. “If there's something worth staying for.”

 **Rilo Kiley: Spectacular Views**  
She pushes him up against the car, slides her hands under his shirt, and fastens her lips to his collar bone. It's just after two am and Hatter's hat is crooked on his head and Alice sucks his skin into her mouth to stop her smile from turning into laughter. The sand is unsteady under their feet, but she doesn't care as she stretches to the tips of her toes.

“Oh Jesus,” he whispers, his head tilting back as his hands follow the curves of her hips. There's salt on her tongue and fireworks in her heart and she can't take it anymore. The moon shivers in the rolling ocean water and Alice revels in the hiss of the waves on sand as Hatter hooks his hands under her bare thighs and hitches her legs up around his waist.

She loses one of her sandals, but she's too busy laughing, and it's Hatter's turn to lick a bruise onto her shoulder. They drove for hours to get here, and they're the only ones on this starlit drunk beach and nothing matters but the moan scraping its way up her throat. A breeze catches the hem of her loose shirt and she arches into the warm air. Hatter holds her ass in both hands and she digs her fingers into his scalp and he groans, deep in his chest, when she rolls her hips against him.

“Fucking gorgeous, you are,” he growls, his accent gravel, when he finally tears his mouth from her skin. She can't help but giggle as she frames his face in her hands and leans down to kiss the curses from his lips.

 **Andrew Jackson Jihad: People II 2: Still Peoplin'**  
“Mr. Hatter,” Alice called as she knocked on his door, even though it was open. He made a vague noise of recognition, which she took to mean, please, come in. “Mr. Hatter,” she tried again, holding her file folders to her chest. It wasn't that the art-slash-home economics teacher intimated her, it was just that he was very flirtatious and she really didn't have time for that.

“Ah, Miss Hamilton!” He beamed when he finally raised his head from his stack of papers. “However can I help my favorite guidance counselor?” Alice rolled her eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed behind his head.

“I was hoping to talk to you about one of your students,” she began, edging through the doorway.

“Which one? I got loads.” He feigned nonchalance, but his eyes were sharp.

“Don't we all,” she muttered, shifting her stack of files to one arm. Their school was notoriously over-crowded and heinously under-staffed. “This one in particular,” Alice handed him on her folders; it was near over flowing with complaints from teachers and failed attempts to contact parents. “She hasn't been to school in two weeks.”

“Oh yeah,” Hatter squinted at the name, “lives with her aunt. Takes care of her little brothers.” Alice frowned; nothing in her file said anything about an aunt. Or little brothers. “I was wondering where she was.” He shook his head with a sigh, “I'll see what I can do.” Alice nodded, tightening her grip on her ever-present folders. “Did you need anything else, Miss Hamilton?” He glanced up at her and Alice blinked, suddenly caught by the golden brown of his eyes.

“No,” she shook her head, “no, that was it. Thank you.”

 **Wintersleep: Listen [Listen, Listen]**  
Under the muted, butter glow of a midnight streetlight, Hatter grabs her hand and pulls her close. Alice follows, sliding free of his panicked grip only to wind her arms around his slight waist. They haven't fought all day – it's practically a record for them at this point – and she nestles her head under his chin until the loose strands of her hair tickle his cheeks. He loops his arms around her shoulders.

“I really love you,” he mumbles into her scalp.

“I know,” she whispers into his throat, swallowing the tears welling in her eyes.

“You're fucking gorgeous and I love you.” His words slur, and Alice fists her hands in the fabric of his jacket. There's a chill in the air, seeping deep into the marrow of her, and she shivers. “I'm sorry.” He doesn't even know what he's apologizing for anymore. Neither of them do. “I love you.”

“I know,” she says again. “I love you too.” If she says it quietly enough, she can make herself believe it. A fat drop of rain shocks her on her shoulder and Alice jerks. Hatter breathes deep around the sobbing in his lungs; she can feel the push of his ribs against her. Another drop of rain catches her on the cheek and she burrows deeper into him.

“S'all right. I won't let the storm take you.” Alice nods, and he kisses her, right where the raindrop left its mark. “I won't let it take you.”

 **The Gaslight Anthem: Great Expectations**  
Alice's eyes found his the minute she walked into the malt shop. He was sitting with his friends at the end of the counter and he had a smudge of grease under his left eye. Guess that's why they call 'em greasers, she thought to herself as her friend grabbed her elbow.

“Alice, don't,” she hissed in her ear, but Alice shook her head. “Guys like that are dangerous.”

“He's harmless,” she assured, tossing her hair for good measure. “We have English together. I let him borrow my notes sometimes.”

“You do not!” Her second friend gasped, utterly scandalized. Alice rolled her eyes and laughed as she shook them off her. She could hear their frantic whispering as she crossed the small restaurant. He arched one dark eyebrow at her when she slid into the stool next to him.

“You lost?” He drawled, propping his elbow on the counter.

“Not even close,” Alice shot back, leaning on her arm in a prim imitation of his slouch. “I'm Alice,” she introduced herself needlessly.

“I know. Everyone knows – pretty little soc like you.” He rolled his eyes and his buddies laughed; Alice tilted her head but refused to let it bother her. “I'm –”

“Hatter,” she cut in, not so secretly pleased when his eyes widened in surprise. “I know. Everyone knows – handsome fella like you.” She pointed at the milkshake at his elbow. “This yours?” Before he could even nod, she leaned over to sip from the straw. “Ooh, chocolate. My favorite.”

 **The Mountain Goats: Dinu Lipatti's Bones**  
“My stepdad is such a dick,” Hatter grunts into his jacket. Alice nods and keeps her hands clasped between her knees, even though she wants to reach over and touch him. On the shoulder, maybe. Or his leg. Or his hair. She chews on the inside of her lip and stares out across the cul-de-sac. The sun's dipped well beyond the horizon, and all that's left is a bright pink-orange smudge glowing against the deep blue of the coming dusk.

She takes a deep breath, holds it in until her lungs buckle against her ribs, ready to say something ridiculously comforting like I'm sorry or want to come over for dinner or can I kiss you please or I'm really sorry. The wanting to kiss him thing is new – it's been bubbling under her skin for the past week and she doesn't know what to do to make it pop.

“Where are we, right now?” He mumbles suddenly.

“On your porch?” She says carefully.

“No, I mean. Where are we for real?” Alice stares at him until she catches on.

“Right. Um.” She stares up at the sky – an endless, bottomless blue – and smiles. “We're in the middle of the ocean. On the back of a giant whale.”

“Named Esteban?”

“Named Esteban,” Alice acknowledges with a nod. “And she needs our help. All of her brothers and sisters have been kidnapped by a horrible, unwashed pirate. So we have to help her free them.” Hatter raises his face from where he's hidden it in his knees. Alice digs her nails into her palms when she sees the bruise, but he's smiling, so she smiles back.

“Where do we start?”

 **We Were Promised Jetpacks: This is My House, This is My Home (alternate)**  
“Hatter,” Alice said quietly, her gaze fixed on something lurking just outside the firelight. She deliberately kept her voice low; Charlie was well asleep, and she didn't want to disturb him. Hatter grunted, all to content to remain wordless as he stared into the blaze. “Hatter, what is that?”

All too suddenly, it was brought into focus, as if it decided it wanted her to see it. Its head was pure black, like a marble, but bottomless, as if it absorbed all light. And its eyes were a solid, sightless white. It was small, reaching no taller than her ankle, and it wore a cloak just as dark and unfathomable as its face.

“Alice, don't look at it.” Hatter clenched his hands into fists and stared relentlessly at his feet. “Alice, please, look away from it.” She shook her head, her eyes wide and suddenly wet. It was closer now, but silent as it moved – why didn't it make a sound?

“I can't,” she whispered, a shivering fear unfurling in the marrow of her bones. “Hatter, I can't – why can't I stop? What is that thing?” It was inches away from her now, and she could feel her breath dying in her lungs. Tears dripped down her cheeks and it was almost on her why couldn't she stop why wouldn't it let her look away and – 

Hatter lunged, eyes still fixed on the ground, and swung at the thing with a burning branch. Alice screamed an it disappeared, almost like it had never been there at all.

“What was that thing?” She gasped, chest heaving with great gulps of air.

“A nightmare,” Hatter said simply, wrapping his arms around himself. “Just a bad dream, brought to life.”

 **Summer Camp: Round the Moon**  
The gym is crowded, filled to the brim, overstuffed, with idiot classmates. The idiot DJ is playing idiot music and the idiot lights are flashing idiot pink and idiot green and Hatter hates every idiot minute of it. He slouches against the wall, his hat pulled low over his eyes, and curses. Just to torture himself, he peeks at Alice, where she's flailing around with her friends.

She's wearing a fluffy, blue dress, decorated with tasteful sparkles (who knew sparkles could be tasteful?) and her hair is piled on top of her head in an artful mess of curls. She looks absolutely divine and Hatter hates himself for thinking it.

“Hatter!” She squeals when she sees him. He can feel his eyes wide in terror as she rushes over. “I didn't think you'd come!” He stares for a second, until he realizes he has to say something.

“I... Yeah! Just changed my mind.” Awkwardly, he flaps his hands to illustrate his point. She laughs and bites her lip.

“Okay,” she says, mostly to herself. “Okay. I made a promise to myself, that if you came, I would do something.” He nods, like he's following along (he isn't, but that's nothing new where Alice is concerned). “So here goes.” Hatter tries to nod again, only Alice has his face in her hands and she's smushing their mouths together and oh.

She's kissing him, eyes clenched shut, as she twists her fingers in his hair, and her tongue is in his mouth and it is absolutely heavenly.

“That was absolutely heavenly,” he whispers when they break for air. Alice smiles, red faced, and he needs to be kissing her again.

 **Kate Nash: Old Dances**  
Around four in the morning, she heard him in the hallway. Upon the desperate cursing, he was fighting a losing battle against his locked door. Alice sighed, and clicked off her television before shuffling to her own door. Cautiously, she cracked it open to peer at her neighbor – his jeans were torn in a way that wasn't fashionable and his hands were shaking as he fumbled with his key.

“Hullo,” she greeted him as she edged into the hall; he glanced at her and his scowl shifted deliberately into a glare. “Rough night?”

“Wha's it to ya, then?” He growled, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. His accent was thicker with his bitterness. “Come to tell me to keep it down? Disruptin' your beauty sleep, am I?” Alice rolled her eyes when he gave her an obvious once-over, though something told her that it was forced – a show he put on. “Not that you need it.”

“Oh, thanks,” she drawled, jutting out her chin defiantly. “Just thought I should check on you – do the neighborly thing. Seeing as we are neighbors.” His kohl lined eyes softened marginally, and Alice felt something inside of her melt. “Not that you need it. The neighborliness, I mean.”

“Hold on now,” her not-so-neighborly neighbor pushed off the wall and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn't say that. Call me Hatter.”

“Maybe,” Alice smiled, sliding back inside her apartment. “But only if you call me first.” She could hear his low whistle of appreciation as she shut the door.

 **Mirah: Promise to Me**  
The good thing about the name on her wrist – written in precise, slightly cramped cursive – is that it's unique. Very few people out in the world call themselves Hatter. In the lonely nights after her father left them (how can you leave your namemate? How?), she would sit in the darkness of her room and stare at her wrist. It was a comfort to press her cheek against, cry her tears into and, on one very rare occasion, kiss. Namemate lore says that sometimes your otherhalf can tell when you touch their name. Did her Hatter feel her kiss?

Now, years later, Alice is all grown up and she doesn't cry into her wrist anymore. Though she does kiss it sometimes, but that's between her and her Hatter.

One bright day in fall, she's ducking into the library at the exact time that someone is ducking out. She stops short of bashing into him, but she loses her balance and, with an entirely undignified squeak, nearly topples over.

“Oh, easy there,” he gasps, catching her arms in his big, warm hands as he steadies her. Alice smiles and tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

“Thanks,” she mumbles and he awkwardly pats her shoulder. Suddenly shy, Alice ducks her face and finds herself eye to wrist with her own name. Written in her own handwriting. “Wait,” she takes his hand between her own and stares. “What's your name?” She asks, desperate.

“Well, people call me Hatter. But –” 

“No!” Alice gasps, “that's perfect. That's absolutely perfect. I'm Alice.”

“Alice,” Hatter holds her name on his tongue. “I think I've been looking for you for quite a while.”

“I could say the same. Hatter.”


End file.
